


and we met in the garden our ancestors built

by the_crownless_queen



Series: Sapphic September 2018 [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Romelle are able to meet despite timeline because reasons, Altea still stands, Alternate Universe - No Galra Invasion, F/F, Masquerade Ball, SapphicSeptember, nope - Freeform, not at all, or not as much, the galra are still a thing but there's no universe conquering, this is not a cinderella story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:28:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/pseuds/the_crownless_queen
Summary: “I haven’t seen you around here before.”Romelle gets the first dance at the ball with the mysterious A -- who, as it turns out, is none other than Princess Allura.





	and we met in the garden our ancestors built

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a mess, I think, but I kinda like it? Also I like this ship.  
> Written for Sapphic September, Day 12: First Dance.  
> Find us on tumblr: #sapphicseptember or #sapphicseptember2018

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

The sudden voice whispering in her ear startled Romelle so badly that she yelped and almost dislodged her mask — that would be just her luck, too, maskless at a masquerade ball.

She turned around, her heart racing, to find herself staring at a delicate pink and white mask. It was shaped like a lion — not surprising, when half the masks Romelle had seen so far had been thinly veiled allusions to the lions of Voltron, even if it was _pink_ — and the blue eyes behind it were laughing at her.

“Sorry about that,” the stranger said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Romelle bristled. “I wasn’t _scared_.” She was lying, but she’d be damned if she admitted in front of some girl who so clearly _belonged_ at court when Romelle was the exact contrary.

“Of course, of course.” The stranger chuckled again, pink lips stretched into a grin. “My apologies. You may call me A, by the way.”

Romelle blinked, curious despite herself. “A? Is that really your name?”

A smirked playfully. “Maybe. And what should I call _you?_ ”

Romelle froze for an instant. “... R,” she replied, feeling very much lost. “You may call me R.”

And despite this being probably the least inspired fake name in the history of fake names, A grinned like Romelle had handed her the moon.

“Now, you never answered my question earlier. Are you new here?”

Romelle shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

A pouted. “I guess not.” She sighed and grabbed Romelle’s hand, immediately starting to pulling her away from her corner of peace and toward the center of the room.

Romelle felt her cheeks flush red and she yelped again. “ _What are you doing?!”_

A just laughed as she forged on. “Come on, if this is your first ball, you should at least get a dance.”

Romelle’s heart tripped up in her chest. “With you?”

A stopped, frowning as she eased her grip on Romelle’s hand. “I mean... Unless you don’t want to.”

She sounded so dejected that Romelle couldn’t help but deny everything instantly. “No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I do want to dance with you!”

It was only as she said it that she realized how true it was — despite being so, well, _forceful_ , A had managed to make her forget the fears and doubts that had plagued her mind since she’d set foot in the castle.

Plus, A was _very pretty_.

Blue eyes widened. “You do?”

_Very, very pretty._

“Yes,” Romelle blurted out, and then she remembered where they were. She frowned. “Shouldn’t… we wait, though? Isn’t the princess supposed to have the first dance?”

A laughed again, though for some reason it sounded almost… different this time. Romelle couldn’t really pinpoint why, but before she could think on it, A was shaking her head, sending white curls flying.

“It’ll be fine,” A said as she cheerfully started to move toward the dancing area again. “I swear.”

Well, A hadn’t led her wrong thus far.

“Fine,” Romelle replied. “But just one dance, then.”

“Maybe two?” A asked with a pout.

“... Maybe two,” Romelle conceded.

They were on their fourth song when Romelle realized that A was actually _Princess Allura_ and that she’d been dancing with an actual _princess_ for the past twenty doboshes.

She blushed, yelped and tripped over her own feet — and to her greatest shame, she dragged the princess down with her.

“Oh dear, I am so sorry, Princess,” Romelle hastily said as she tried to help A — the _princess_ up.

She was half expecting to get kicked out, or worse, but everyone else was either ignoring them or pretending too, gracefully twirling _around_ them.

The Princess frowned as she stood up. “Please, just call me Allura.”

Romelle hesitated for a moment, but Allura seemed serious, and apart from that slight misdirection about her identity, she didn’t seem like the manipulative type.

Not at all like the type of monarch Romelle had grown up knowing — for all that they shared some traits, Lotor and Allura couldn’t be more different.

Romelle took a deep breath. “Allura, then,” she said, and she was rewarded with another of Allura’s bright grins.

“Shall we keep dancing?” Allura asked, and to everyone else, it would probably sound cocky, but Romelle was close enough to see the slivers of doubt swimming through those aquamarine pools.

At first, Romelle thought about saying now — dancing felt different, now that she knew — but then she remembered how those first four songs had felt, her body close to Allura’s, and her mouth went dry.

“Yes,” she blurted out. “Let’s.”

“Won’t you tell me your name?” Allura eventually asked several vargas later. The ball was drawing to a close, but Romelle was loath to go, even though she had danced more in one evening than she had in her entire life before.

“It’s only fair, after all — you know mine,” Allura continued, her blue eyes twinkled almost as much as the gold glitter on her mask.

Romelle felt herself smirk. “You’re the Princess — why don’t you figure it out?”

Allura pouted — it was an unfairly attractive expression on her. “Can’t you give me a clue?”

Finally, the last song ended and they had to stop dancing — Romelle might have continued anyway, but she had an idea.

It was a little bold, but something about Allura made her want to be _bold._

“Close your eyes,” she said in an almost whisper, and her heart skipped a beat when Allura’s eyes fluttered shut without a moment of hesitation.

“What now?” Allura said.

Romelle hummed as she slowly untied their masks, first her own and then Allura’s. There was hardly anyone left in the ballroom to see, and everybody knew the princess’s face anyway.

But Romelle’s? That was the secret.

“What are you —?” Allura asked. The pale marks below her eyes seemed to shine, and Romelle yearned to trace them.

One day, maybe.

“Shh,” she replied, and she put her own mask on Allura’s face, securing Allura’s old lion mask on her own. It was a bit of an odd fit in both cases, but Romelle trusted them not to slip.

“There,” she said as Allura reopened her eyes. “Now, you have a clue.”

Allura’s fingers rose to her new mask, and she grinned. “It would seem that I do.”

“Good.” Romelle grinned back. “Don’t take too long.”

Allura laughed. “I won’t.” Her blue eyes sharpened and she squeezed Romelle’s hand, once. “I promise.”

Romelle’s heart swelled. “I believe you,” she said, and she did.

Something told her that she’d be seeing the princess again soon.

She couldn’t wait.


End file.
